I've had too much sugar today. I am better than I was yesterday when I was spinning on my office chair (trying not to strangle myself with the phone cord) and debating with a customer service advisor if it was unreasonable to think the customer called Jean could have been a "Mr", reasoning that maybe it was French. That's what a bag of pic n' mix does for me, and personally I think it was the jellybeans. I once wrote a poem called "Axe Murder and Cherry Coke" which wasn't much about axe murder at all, but about having too much sugar -- in particular it included the lines "Gonna have some fun, gonna get so high, gonna [have to] scrape me off the ceiling".
Right now there is about five different blog posts I want to make, but we are going to do these one at a time -- and maybe one a day, depending. But first, work. Last week, when I was out in the arse-end of nowhere (and yet still in London, just about) for the job interview I didn't even get the job for, I got a phone call about another job. An interview for a job working in ethical healthcare PR, a field I hadn't previously given too much thought to but liked the idea of. So I agreed to be there, and that was that.
The next day at work they say "Nuh-uh, no way: you can't have the day off." I pleaded, said it was for an interview. They told me tough luck. I asked my temp agency to help, "No dice, son" is what they said.
"I called my congressman and he said, quote, 'I'd like to help you son but you're too young to vote.'
I weighed up my options, asked the advice of a colleague and eventually said screw it, I'd call in sick. It would look dead suss, but is my face bothered? Especially was I had Wednesday off work. As luck would have it, I felt like shit on Monday. I had to work and a dodgy pint of Stella the night before left me feeling like I was going to throw up whenever I ate. By the end of my shift I was vocally complaining about how I felt, and if I hadn't felt so rough I'd have been pleased how convenient it was. Tuesday morning I put on my best sick voice "I'm really sorry I can't make it into work today, I have a migraine". They were unconvinced by all accounts, but we expected that -- right, kids?
The interview itself on Tuesday was by and large a waste of time. It was less remote than the week before -- that is, it was more than a village this time, and it had a tube station. I'm turning into one of those people, aren't I? The kind of urbanite who thinks if it doesn't have a tube station it isn't civilised. True story: San used to live with a girl who was once genuinely surprised to learn the Underground did not extend outside of London. This girl in perhaps her early twenties, honestly thought you could travel anywhere in mainland Britain on the Tube. Talk about sheltered. Anyway, where was I? The job.
I got there early, wandered about the high street (it had more going for it than my town, so points there in its favour) and bought some second hand books in a charity shop -- San is sending begging emails for care packages, since she has no books. Incidentally, I bought her a copy of High Fidelity and am also sending her my copy of Breakfast At Tiffany's and Notes From a Small Island. The postage cost me about three times what I paid for all of the books, put together.
The company itself was housed in an old listed building that looked like it might have been the vicar's cottage, way back when. I was clean cut, well dressed, you know the drill -- and had done my research. I knew the company's clients, I knew its competitors and was ready to comment on why this company was better. I knew their awards. I knew the role of ethical healthcare, I was prepared to discuss contemporary issues (from MRSA to the average joe being able to find out almost any info online about a drug, regardless of if it had been approved), and I was going to look very sincere about why I wanted to work in something serious.
In the end, the account director didn't turn up for the meeting so I was just interviewed by a (very pleasant) HR manager. The semi-retired, part-time HR manager. It was a completely different game to the one I was expecting. The interview started with all that extraneous info you're told never to ask about; the salary, the holiday, the parking spaces -- everything that matters to HR. Then they asked if I had any questions.
I blinked in surprise, used to keeping my questions to the end of the interview. I had been warned by the HR manager that since she didn't really work in PR, she knew nothing of the specifics of the role itself, nor the PR industry in general. I asked questions about training and assessment, but they seemed a bit flat. I fielded usual questions about previous jobs -- although she seemed hung up on going through my CV dates bit by bit -- and gave the usual rubbish when asked how my friends would describe me. How would they describe me? Funny, creative, sometimes reclusive and prone to bouts of depression. I didn't put it quite like that.
"And how would your enemies describe you?"
Having mentioned the latter to my friends, they were of the opinion I should have taken the piss and said something like "Devilishly handsome". Instead, I was unsure and said they probably just don't understand my sense of humour. How would my enemies describe me? Weird, probably. I expect they would probably question my sexuality, but just because it's insulting. The rest of the interview I don't much remember.
The next day, I got a call to say I hadn't got the job. They hadn't felt I was the right for their agency, and as a small company it was important the right person fit in with the rest of the team. I wonder if what they meant by that was 19 out of the agency's 20 employees were female. They also gave some quite useful feedback that I had seemed nervous -- I think I was more put out that the account director wasn't present, and all my research was in vain -- but I should have been livelier and more confident. Point taken.
Otherwise, there's been the usual emails from recruitment consultants coming and going -- job specs and promises to put me forward for roles. I try not to think too much about them, or read too much into it. One particular position came to me via a phonecall yesterday, and I cheekily checked my voicemail later in the afternoon when I should have been working. It sounded about right -- consumer role, well-known agency, I said to go ahead. This evening I was thinking how I hadn't heard back yet, not remembering it was only yesterday I'd even been told about it. Just figured they weren't interesting.
Sat at home, trying to motivate myself to go to the gym, I got another phone call. Same guy as yesterday, asking if I'd checked my email in the last hour or two. I admitted I hadn't. He explained the agency he'd put me forward to yesterday were interested -- but rather than an interview they wanted me for a job trial. And now I start on Monday. A month's fully paid trial, a chance to impress them with my hard work (especially since I've already done an equivalent position for six months) and fingers crossed from there.
My temp agency are pissed off at me because they want a week's notice, and I've said either I start on Monday or not at all. I'm faintly amused work will think it was for the job I interviewed for this week, but aren't overly keen that I'm kind of burning my bridges. Just the same, it's too good an opportunity to be passing up -- and it's going to look a lot better on my CV than working in a call centre.
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